Your Eyes
by RissaAngel
Summary: Snape had been hiding from his feelings for eleven years. The beginning of a new school year with Harry Potter causes his feelings to emerge again. My version of the real meaning behind Snape's hatred for Harry--a sequel to another one of my fics. One-s


**Windows to the Soul**  
Larissa  
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, JK Rowling is the genius behind them.

**_They say the eyes are the windows to the soul..._**

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He sat stiffly at the head table in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, silently cursing time and how fast the past eleven years had flown by. There was a part of him that was still clinging to the hope that the boy would never make it to Hogwarts—that his new family would rather raise him as a muggle. Severus Snape's long, pale fingers gripped his goblet tightly as he took a sip of pumpkin juice. He looked sourly across the Great hall, swishing the liquid around in his mouth, wishing that it were firewhiskey, or even a glass of cabernet. Something warm and flavorful, to tingle his tongue and burn his throat when he swallowed. Something that would numb him to his thoughts and emotions.

It was an idiotic idea, really, thinking that the boy would not make it to Hogwarts. The young Potter could hardly be a squib, and if he hadn't been allowed to go to Hogwarts, Dumbledore and the rest of the wizardring world would definitely have something to say about it. After all, the Potter's son was the reason that Voldemort was gone and the dark times had subsided. The boy already seemed to possess powers that some great wizards could only dream of.

Severus set his goblet down on the table, sniffing with irritation, and rubbing a hand against his right temple. The vein there had already began to flicker and throb. It was going to be a long ceremony-a long night. He was just about to take another sip of his drink when Quirinus decided to strike up a conversation with him. Severus sighed. The stuttering dolt sitting next to him had become something of an irritation. Why Dumbledore continued to let the frightened ninny teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, Severus would never understand. The turban-clad professor could barely walk down the hallway without having a near-heart attack. If Snape didn't know Dumbledore better, he would take it as a personal insult that he wasn't chosen over the weak-kneed Quirrell. _Squirrel_, as he referred to him mentally.

"P-

Potter is in the fi-first year, Severus. Amazing, isn't it?" Quirrell looked at Severus, his eye twitching nervously.

"Thrilling," Severus replied dryly. He took a sip of his juice, staring blankly at the entrance to the great hall and hoping that Quirrell would get the idea and stop talking to him.

Quirrell opened his mouth to say something else when a noise at the Entrance hall made him shut it abruptly. Professor McGonagall entered through the doorway with a long line of twitchy first years following closely behind her. They followed her nervously, lining up in front of the staff table. Some of them were whispering anxiously to one another, eyes darting around at the older students and the tables that separated them. The enchanted ceiling, which bestowed a starry sky, also transfixed a few of their gazes.

Although he was reluctant to do so, Severus surveyed the line quickly. Surely Lily's boy would be there somewhere. His dark eyes flashed with recognition when he spotted a young boy with glasses and untidy black hair not far to his right. The corners of Severus's lips turned down into a frown as he looked at the boy. Even from his profile, it was obvious that Harry Potter truly was the spitting image of James. The vein in Severus's forehead began to thump intensely, and he gave an agitated sigh, forcefully removing his gaze from the boy.

The Sorting Hat's song was hardly a welcomed distraction. Severus barely paid attention to it anymore. Every year it said the same thing, substituting new phrases to explain the houses and their founders tactfully and truthfully. His long fingers drummed against his thigh, waiting for the first-years to be sorted and the feast to begin. The solitude of his office seemed very inviting at the moment. He hated these big ceremonies.

Severus was snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of Minerva calling out Potter's name. The boy stepped forward somewhat timidly and sat himself down on the stool. Severus's eyes blinked slowly as he registered the boy's face. "Lily," he murmured. A pair of green, almond shaped eyes were covered by the brim hat almost immediately after Snape had glimpsed them.

"Sorry?" Professor Quirrell piped up next to him. "I didn't hear you."

"It's nothing," Snape replied sharply, hoping Quirrell would take the hint. Obviously he had, because he didn't say anything else.

_Lily_. Severus had seen the boy's picture only once, and even then had commented on the boy's eyes. He, however, had not been prepared for the emotions that began to rise from the depths of his being again. For the moment he had looked at Harry's eyes, he could almost have sworn he was looking into Lily's own. _Merlin, I miss her_.

He clapped unenthusiastically as the sorting hat boomed "Gryffindor!" and Harry made his way over to his new house's table. It was hardly surprising—the Potters had been two of the finest Gryffindors in the last few decades. Severus had been expecting him to be placed there, yet, an odd weight of disappointment settled on his chest. He would have liked to have Lily's boy in his own house. James would have been in fits. _Of course, James always got what he wanted, why would it stop now? _Severus was quickly becoming dark with his brooding.

As the last student was sorted into Slytherin—Severus would address them later-Dumbledore stood up and gave his beginning of the year speech. As per the usual, it was very peculiar. Severus always suspected that Dumbledore rather enjoyed putting on his nutty façade. He supposed it made the Headmaster seem more approachable. Snape preferred treating the students with intimidation and an acidic tongue. They would learn to respect him for his position, if nothing more. Thus far, it had been working quite well. Slytherin had been the House Cup champion for some time now. It was another reason for him to continue teaching in this method, although he was a bit more lenient with his own house.

He began to serve himself some food, accepting a plate of Yorkshire puddings from Professor Quirrell.

"Are you disa-

pointed that Harry wasn't sorted into S-slytherin?" Quirrell asked him, holding a quivering spoonful of mashed potatoes.

"Disappointed? I think not," he replied shortly. He looked at Quirrell's pale face and shook his head slightly. "His parents were both Gryffindors. I wouldn't have expected any less."

"Oh, yes. Lily and James," Quirrell nodded. "They were head boy and girl in their day, is that right?"

Severus managed a terse nod in reply, focusing on the food that was covering his plate and once again longing for alcohol. _Yes. They were head boy and head girl. The most nauseatingly perfect wizardring couple._ The food in his mouth was quickly losing its taste, and he chewed it dully.

The more he thought about Harry's eyes, the more his memories of Lily began to stir inside of him. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard to force the food down. The last time he had seen her was in a tavern, the night he had joined the Order. He and Dumbledore had decided that it would be useful for him to act as a double agent. The reason he had decided to join, in fact, was because he had heard the rumor that the Dark Lord was planning on murdering Harry. Though Lily had married James by then, Severus's feelings for her ran deep, and he would risk everything for her.

But she had died anyway. Both she and James had sacrificed their lives protecting their son.

He looked bitterly at his food, pushing the plate away from him and deciding he couldn't eat anything else. Quirrell, noticing that Snape had finished, decided to reengage him in conversation.

"You were in the same year as Lily and James, from what I've gathered."

"Yes, I was."

"Did you know them very well?" Quirrell turned towards him and leaned forward, obviously keen on learning more about the Potters.

The thought of just getting up and leaving the table flickered through Severus's mind, but he decided against it, sighing with resignation and turning towards Quirrell. "No," he answered shortly, deciding that the other professor needn't know his personal business. _James and I did not get along. I couldn't stand the way he strode around the school and acted the hero_. He practically spat with distaste as he remembered Potter and his friends—they were his nemeses.

"I see."

Snape nodded, carefully guarding his face. "They were both very intelligent, and possessed the principal characteristics of Gryffindor. That's all I remember." _Lily was the only intelligent Gryffindor out of the lot of them._ He decided not to mention the fact that she was the only one who was kind to him, or that he had developed something of an infatuation with her. _She could read me all too well_.

Now that she was on his mind again, Severus couldn't help but look in the direction of Harry.

Harry, it seemed, had been staring at Snape at that exact moment. Snape was taken aback, but he veiled it well, simply gazing at Harry with a vacant expression. The innocence in Harry's eyes was so like Lily's that it shocked him. Yet, Harry was so obviously James's son. Every other inch of the boy was exactly like James. It was almost a slap in the face for Severus to see Lily's eyes as a part of Harry's features.

He quickly turned back to Professor Quirrell, raising and eyebrow and carrying on the conversation as though nothing had happened. Silently, he willed himself not to look in the direction of the boy again.

"He'll have a lot to prove here, that is certain," he added, pressing his lips together into a thin line.

He sat in his office late into the night, trying to busy himself by looking over his plans for the next day's lessons, but it was no use. His mind continued to wander back to the image of Harry's face. Instead of making him lonely and sad, he found himself feeling emotions quite the contrary. A seething, boiling, ferocious anger was beginning to take over him.

Harry would be a constant reminder to Snape of how the Slytherin was not good enough for Lily. How he could never compete with Hogwarts's golden boy, James Potter. Snape slammed his fist onto his desk, rattling the jars filled with potions ingredients. Who was Severus kidding, anyway? Lily would hardly have fallen in love with someone like him. He was painfully aware of his appearance, but he had learned at an early age not to agonize over trivial and petty physical characteristics. A true wizard proves himself by his knowledge and his actions—not by how he grooms himself.

This is what he and Lily had befriended each other with—knowledge. _If we could have even called it a friendship_. Neither of them could afford to talk to each other out right. The Gryffindor boys would have ostracized Lily had they known, and Snape's own friends—Rosier, Avery, and the Lestranges-would have treated him anything but mercifully.

_Severus, you dolt. Stop letting your emotions get the best of you._ His gaze drifted lazily around his office and rested on a container that was tucked away in the corner of one of his bookshelves. He quickly stood up and walked over to the container, reaching up and examining it closely. It contained a small portion of a sleeping draught—to help one have a dreamless sleep-that he hadn't used in eight or nine years. He had managed to push away his thoughts of Lily by then. In all truth, he had learned to sleep through the memories with more ease.

Now, it was like the first year after Lily's death all over again. Her face drifted through his mind, and he found it immensely disconcerting. He was not about to trudge through his old memories again just because Harry Potter was at Hogwarts now. _Damned Potter_. The young Gryffindor was already a popular student in the first year, and only because of the scar he had on his forehead. The boy probably didn't even understand what it meant—what everyone had to go through during the Dark Lord's reign. Severus tightened his grip around the container, his pale knuckles turning bone white.

Before he knew it, he had thrown the bottle against the stone wall of his office. It shattered and fell to the floor with a satisfying tinkling of glass. The sleeping draught dripped down the walls and onto the floor, forming a puddle that began to reflect the flickering light of the office torches. Severus pulled out his wand and muttered a quick vanishing spell. The puddle of his sleeping draught disappeared immediately.

He would not need it anymore.

After a night of fitful sleeping, he had awoken irritable and tired. His poor slumber had caused him to make a firm resolution about his relationship with Harry and he was determined to stick to it. Severus was now pacing the potions classroom, his black robes billowing out behind him. The students of the first year Gryffindor class would be arriving shortly—Potter included.

_You are not to make friends with the boy, Severus. It will only bring you more pain and suffering_. He briefly thought of the boy's eyes again, and his lips curled into a sneer under his hooked nose. It was the smart thing to do. He would rather have those green eyes look at him with hate and loathing than with sympathy or love. Severus knew he wouldn't be able to stand that—especially not for seven years.

The students began filing in, and he eyed the Potter boy, who already looked nervous. _Yes, that's right. I'll make him hate me. He can hate me as much as I hated James. _He couldn't bear affection—not from those eyes. He wasn't sure he even could respond accordingly to it any longer. Severus walked to his desk and began to call roll.

When he reached Potter's name, he knew it had to be done. The Potions master practically ached with hatred for both his past, and now, his future. He would treat the boy with as much loathing as he had felt for James-that he still felt for James. His black eyes looked at Harry maliciously, glittering with more than ten years of pent up frustration and hate.

"Ah yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. _Our new celebrity_."

* * *

A/N: The last line is from Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone, chapter eight, page 136, Scholastic publishing. 


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